Read Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 03 for Free Online

Lord. Jim Bob and I haven't missed a service in twenty years, and that includes Wednesday prayer meetings, Sunday evening potlucks, and every single night of the annual revivals."
    "Is that right? By the way, how are Jim Bob's illegitimate children doing these days? Did you ever decide what color to paint the nursery?"
    "Perkins's eldest sees to them after Bible school every morning until bedtime, but it is none of your concern, Arly Hanks. What is your concern is that vulgar display going on at the bank this very moment. If you're not willing to do something, I'm going to have to telephone Jim Bob all the way in Starley City, where he's pricing some used washing machines for the launderette, and have a word with him about your aversion to doing your sworn duty."
    "What's going on at the bank?" I asked, wearying of the lack of challenge. Baiting her was as difficult as finding a cab in Manhattanon -- on a pleasant, sunny day when you're not in any kind of hurry and really don't mind the chance to window-shop. The cabs swoop in like a flock of starlings.
    "That Nookim woman is causing a ruckus. I want you to arrest her and lock her up tighter than new shoes on a heathen. She is an embarrassment to my dear friends, Sherman and Truda Oliver, not to mention that nice young man who's doing his best to carry on his family's upstanding tradition of service to the community, and all the God-fearing good people of Maggody." Mrs. Jim Bob stood up, brushed at a wrinkle in her skirt, and started for the door. I was holding my breath, but it didn't do one damn bit of good because she stopped and glowered back at me. "You are still sitting there, Chief of Police Hanks. I thought I just told you to go over to the bank and arrest that woman."
    "I have no idea what she's doing."
    "And you anticipate coming to a revelation by staying glued to that chair and looking at shiny pictures?"
    I thought of a few diverting remarks but let them slither away. "I suppose I could mosey down to the bank," I said, losing the battle to yet another yawn, "but it's awfully hot. Why don't you tell me what Johnna Mae Nookim's doing?"
    "Why don't you just mosey down there and have a look-see for yourself!''
    The door slammed behind her. I waited for a minute, glued and ready for her to barge back in, but she didn't. I took the car keys out of the middle drawer and grudgingly forced myself out to the police car. I didn't have the energy to conjure up any theories about what Johnna Mae was doing, and I wasn't excited about taking anyone to the county jail, unless it was Hizzoner or Mizzoner -- or both, if I could get them a double cell. Twin bunks, however, so Hizzoner wouldn't get any filthy ideas.
    The sky was a bleachy blue. The sun did its best to bake me as I drove down the highway. I braked to let a scruffy hound wander by, waved at a dust-streaked child in a saggy, baggy diaper, and wondered if a six-week cruise would be too brief. I had about decided that ten weeks would be dead minimum when I got my first view of the bank.
    Johnna Mae was pacing along the edge of the highway, a sign propped on her shoulder. Bernswallow and Sherman Oliver stood in front of the bank, their arms crossed over their chests, and Miss Una's face could be seen hovering through the glass doors behind them, as if she were trapped in a murky aquarium. Milling nearby were several upstanding citizens, including Raz Buchanon, Elsie McMay, someone's mother, someone's mother's friendly cosmetologist, a few neckless hulks from the pool hall, and Mrs. Jim Bob herself.
    I parked on the far side of the highway and tried to figure out what the hell was happening. As Johnna Mae reeled around, I caught a glimpse of the crude printing on her posterboard: SHERMAN OLIVER IS A CHAUVINIST PIG AND HATES WIMMEN.
    Sherman Oliver certainly looked as if he hated one woman in particular. Under a shock of white hair, his eyes were slits. His nose was on the purple side, and his cheeks were blotchy. His jaw